Fickle fate, Hydra's Wrath
by jpdt19
Summary: An Stargate Atlantis AU / Stargate Continuum the Movie Crossover: What if Daniel, Sam and Cam were not as alone as they thought in their fight against the new Supreme System Lord Baal. Involves an AU of my work The Others
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:**

**All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the authors. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I do not own the rights or characters to Stargate Atlantis or to Stargate Continuum.  
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**Fickle Fate & The Hydra's wrath: A Stargate Atlantis AU & Stargate Continuum the movie crossover.**

Prologue.

I was watching Stargate Continuum a while ago, when i suddenly got think what would happen if the Hydra from my SGA/Farscape Story appeared not in the Uncharted territories, but in Milky Way during the Continuum timeline. After all, the continuum timeline occurred due to Baal changing the events of history and time, and as all faithful Farscape followers know, wormholes are incidents in 'space time'

A rather weak premise maybe, but I've been having fun with it.

**IMPORTANT ****Readers of this story who don't read the first two chapters of my work The Others (Stargate Atlantis/Farscape Crossover) will only understand part of the crossover!**

Timeline & Setting

This is set 9 months after the incident in Antarctica, roughly a week before Baal shows up in orbit in the film.

For my purposes. Continuum is set during 2007/8. After the Events of Ark of Truth, because Carter is still on SG1, which makes the ceremony with Baal occur in 2007.

This is clearly (in the restored timeline) before she becomes Commander of Atlantis in Season 4, which is equivalent to 2008 (since the Atlantis expedition left in 2004 and each season i presume equates to a year) and is promoted to Colonel.

So for the purpose of this story:

Baal extraction ceremony, and SG1's escape  
from new Tok'ra homeworld to end up in Antartica: September 2007

The copies from SGA season 4 episode 10 'This Mortal Coil'  
(i.e. mid 2008) arrive in the Sol system (post chapter 2 of my  
story The Others) a few weeks after the Hydra is dumped by a  
wormhole in Milkyway: Mid May 2008

I plan for this to have maybe 6 to 8 chapters, update time should be fairly quick:

Hope you enjoy!

Jamie (i.e. jpdt19)


	2. Chapter 1 First Meetings

**Disclaimer:**

**All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the authors. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I do not own the rights or characters to Stargate Atlantis or to Stargate Continuum.  
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**Sol System: 7th of May 2008.  
ex-Asuran Dreadnaught Hydra  
aprox 4 PM Eastern Standard Time  
**

The Hydra came out of Hyperspace in an explosion of light, her hyperdrives tearing open the fabric of space, the energy of the hyperspace emergence enough to trip every and any decent sensor in the system. Powerful gravitic drives came to life upon the fins of her drive section, glowing brightly with bright ion emissions as her mighty reactors fed them with energy. Like a wraith she slid through space, the alloys of her black hull making her practically invisible to the naked eye. Not that there was anyone to see her out here. Like probing fingers, invisible beams of highly concentrated energy spread out from her powerful sensor arrays, mapping the vast expanse of space around her. Alert for threats, her crew, haggard and weary from lack of food and sleep, checked the system for dangers, not caring who might detect their presence. Why should they when finally, after the weeks it had taken to fix the dreadnaught's sensor systems, they were home. Paranoia, or perhaps a unconscious desire to see earth grow before them, to prove them were finally home, had caused Sheppard to drop the vast warship out of hyperspace still some minutes from earth orbit.

Now as her powerful drives drove her smoothly through space, all eyes upon the bridge were on the bright orb before them, shining like a jewel. Rodney, several weeks' stubble rough on his cheeks, rose from the engineering station, and slowly walked to the forward bridge windows. Leaning against the cool metal of a support, feeling it cool against his bristly cheek, he gazed at earth. Soft footsteps behind him signalled the arrival of another, but he didn't move, but continued to gaze forward at the bright jewel of earth. A hand touched his shoulder, and turning he saw the familiar features of Elizabeth. She leant against him slightly, a strangely intimate gesture that weeks before he would have found strange, but their ordeal had if anything brought the 5 friends closer together. The stress, the doubt, the fear of the unknown, they had all played their part.

"What are you thinking," she said, her eyes also locked on earth, drawing steadily larger before tried to pin it down to something special, but in the end he settled on the simplest. "Coffee". She laughed. "Coffee it is," she said remembering the Canadian's desperate search through the emergency rations on the jumper, his dismay when he had been unable to find any.

"How about you?" he asked after a few moments.

"Hmmm, I can't tell. I'm stuck between chocolate, and having a long, long bath!"

She plucked slightly at her battered coveralls. They were at least clean, for they had found what could best be described as a highly advanced washing machine aboard after the first week. Their clothes had come out clean, smelling sweetly, but they still only possessed one pair of clothes each, and while they might be clean, the same could not always be said for their occupants. Thankfully the jumper had contained some essentials for cleaning and washing, and the Hydra's crew quarters possessed showers, but even so, they had been forced to rough it quite a bit, and by now all three of the men possessed quite impressive stubble. This had been a source of some amusement for the girls, and Rodney, whom they had never seen with a beard before, had been the source of quite a few jokes and amused comments. It had all been friendly, chiefly designed to keep each other's spirits up, while they hung in deep space on the far side of the Milky Way, trying to repair the Hydra's damaged systems. Nonetheless, Rodney could not wait to find a razor.

He was dragged from his pleasant day dreams of coffee, razors and bizarrely enough, toothpaste, by a call from the rear of the Bridge. "Hey McKay, are you sure you fixed communications?" McKay sighed, and turned to the man seated in the Hydra's command chair. "They were never broken oh bearded one. Why, what's wrong?" Sheppard brow was furrowed in concentration, as his mind connected with the Hydra's control systems. "I can't seem to raise Stargate Command. I'm transmitting on all subspace channels, but I'm not getting any answer."

Mckay frowned. That was strange. Stargate command had for the last 6 or 7 years possessed the ability to send and receive subspace signals half way across the galaxy, and even should the Mountain be experiencing communications problems, there were always the secondary systems at Area 51, or upon any of the SGC's ships. He turned and shot a glance through the forward windows once more. Earth had grown to fill a good three quarters of the view. By his estimate, they would be entering orbit in a few minutes.

He crossed to the engineer's station, and accessed the ship's systems. As he had told Sheppard, the communications systems read as fully operational. They still had their radios of course, but they had discussed what they would do once they arrived, and all had agreed that sending an unencrypted radio transmission was a bad idea. For one thing they did not possess the SGC's current frequencies, so any transmission could potentially be received by anyone, hardly secret. Their circumstances were complicated enough without being responsible for _accidentally _disclosing the Stargate program to the entire planet. Curious, he directed the ship's powerful sensors at the planet. Almost immediately he noticed something strange. "Sheppard, I'm not detecting any ships in orbit, not to mention any traces of subspace signals."

Weir hurriedly crossed to his side. "Surely the ships could be away on missions?"

"Yes, of course, but I'm not detecting anything. Even without the ships in orbit, we should be able to detect background subspace emissions from the Mountain, Area 51, the outpost, something. We should have seen some reaction as soon as we approached orbit, they would have detected our Hyperspace window straight away, let alone our scans." The five of them exchanged worried looks. Sheppard's face bore a look of deep concentration. "McKay, I'm not detecting anything either," he said after a few moments. Rodney grimaced. Rubbing a hand unconsciously over his bristly chin, he focussed the active sensors on the North American continent, bringing the sensor systems to full power. At that strength the Hydra's Lantean sensors could detect individual molecules, let alone traces of elements, but try as he might, the data refused to match up.

"Ok, this is bad!"

"What is it McKay."

"I don't understand it. I'm not detecting anything. There's no trace of the shipyards at Area 51, no naquadah, trinium, anything. I'm not even detecting the Stargate's naquadah inside Cheyenne Mountain either, and worse I'm getting far too clear readings of the SGC. Ever since the trust's actions a few years ago they installed jammers to prevent people scanning or beaming in or out of the mountain. They're always on, it's standard procedure." He said, his tone disbelieving. He looked up at his stunned friends. "I'm reading everything perfectly clearly" he said quietly, "and there's nothing there. It's like the SGC doesn't exist!"

Elizabeth looked stunned, and Sheppard's face was dark. Teyla and Ronon looked a little lost, but from their expressions, they knew enough to know what he was saying was not a good thing.

"How about the Antarctic outpost?" suggested Elizabeth after a few moments, waiting patiently for Rodney to follow up her suggestion. "It's definitely there," he replied after a few moments, sounding slightly more relaxed, "I'm detecting the structures, but I'm not getting any active energy signatures. Hang on"

He paused, studying the data being fed into his tablet. "I'm getting lifesigns atop the outpost's location. But it looks like the outpost is still buried? They're digging down to it."

"How can that be?" said Sheppard. "You and I've both been there, for Christ sake that was where I first met you two, where I first found out about the gate."

"I don't know alright. I'm only repeating what the sensors are telling me!" retorted McKay. Sheppard, who had half risen in his command chair, sank down, holding up his hands desperately in a symbol of piece. "Calm down McKay, I wasn't blaming you ok." The scientist held the Colonel's gaze for a few moments, and then nodded, recognising his friend hadn't been at fault. Sheppard nodded at him, and sank back down in the chair, shutting his eyes to help him concentrate. At the back of his mind he felt the interface with the Hydra's systems, and he dived into it, immersing himself in the information. It was with a sinking feeling that he felt the ship's computers confirm what McKay had already told him. Everything was wrong.

He grimaced, what the hell had happened. He opened his eyes and gazed at his friends. Their expressions he was sure mirrored his own. Confusion, fear, and perhaps most of all, disappointment. They had all hoped for so much, they knew the SGC would probably lock them away in suspicion for at least a while, but they had hoped the gift of the Hydra would be enough to grant them some credit. As the weeks went by, they had gradually come to accept their situation, to accept what they were. They didn't like it of course, and none of them would truly accept or forgive that others were living their lives. They had however come to accept that returning to earth was their only option. To return, and find things so different from how they had expected, threw them scarily off balance.

As the Hydra slipped into earth orbit, undetected by any below, the great ship seemed to ripple, waves of energy appearing to wash across her hull, and then suddenly there was only the empty blackness of space.

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* * *

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Far below on the planet's surface, 3 individuals calmly went about their day to day lives, confined to normality by a government who didn't trust them. In orbit, the 5 individuals aboard the Hydra were anything but calm. Standing around a table in what Sheppard had christened the 'captain's ready room,' the five were talking furiously. Or more accurately, the three earth born members were debating furiously, with Teyla and Ronon watching and occasionally inserting a comment or opinion.

"Ok, so this isn't our earth." said Sheppard, rubbing his temples, wincing as he felt a headache coming on. "What happened then, and why?" Are we in an alternate universe or reality or something?"

Everyone's eyes went to Rodney. He shook his head. "It's not an alternate Universe. We'd have noticed before know, and anyway, we're clearly detecting two Stargates on the planet, though why the Russians have one I've no idea."

"Ok, so an alternate reality then?" asked Elizabeth.

"Maybe," admitted Rodney. Lots of things are the same," he said gesturing to the data being displayed on the screens around the compartment's walls. "It's 2009, Henry Hayes is President, and America's still fighting wars in Iraq and Afghanistan." Then again, everything's different. "No SGC obviously, no Stargate under Cheyenne Mountain, and there are a number of other things too" he said, tapping on his pad. The others watched him curiously, until after a few seconds tapping, words started to broadcast from the tablet's small speakers. The signal was scratchy, and somewhat tinny, but clearly discernable.

_  
"And in other News, the White House has today confirmed Vice President Kinsey will be running for office again next year. The vice president, who 3 years ago fought a vicious campaign against Henry Hayes for 6 months, only to withdraw with the offer of the Vice-Presidency, has promised to further American interests ...." _

There was silence, broken by the curious voice of Ronon. "Who's this Kinsey guy?" Beside him Teyla also looked curious, not understanding.

Elizabeth grimaced. "He's a politician," then smiling faintly at Ronon's expression, "In our reality," she said, stumbling slightly on the word, "he was a major opponent of the SGC, trying several times to get it shut down."

"Not to mention being in league with the Trust and the NID." Added Sheppard, who had read the files.

"Was?" said Teyla.

"He was killed, almost 2 years ago," muttered Rodney, his voice trailing off, suddenly very intent on his tablet. The others shot him curious looks, when Sheppard started slightly, and looked worried. He spoke. "McKay, um, when the SGC had visitors from an alternate reality, through a quantum mirror or something, didn't they suffer some sort of strange disorder that made it dangerous for them to say?"

All the others, with the exception of Rodney, gazed at him worriedly. Teyla and Ronon looked concerned, but blank, whereas Elizabeth suddenly looked more than a little worried. She had read all the SGC files she could. Among them had been a report covering the quantum mirror incidents. Her features tightening, she like John turned to gaze at Rodney, expecting an answer. There got none, the scientist's fingers were flowing over his tablet. His features were a curious mix of amazement, disbelief, and something else.

"McKay", prompted John.

The Canadian didn't move.

_  
"Rodney"_ said Elizabeth, more loudly.

He started slightly. He gazed up at them suddenly. "It's not an alternate reality" he said slowly "Or at least, i don't think it is."

"What do you mean?" queried Ronon. Rodney shook his head, "I can't show you here. Umm follow me." He said, rushing out of the room almost as soon as the hatch could open. The others stared at each for a few seconds, then hurriedly dashed after him. Behind them unnoticed, on the wall, three white dots glowed steadily on an image of the North American continent.

"Where are you going," yelled Sheppard as he set off after Rodney._ "Bridge"_ came back the shouted reply.

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* * *

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About three minutes later, the four of them rushed into the bridge, breathing heavily. John grimaced, feeling weak from lack of food. They had been forced to ration their limited supplies, and even so had run out the day before. Rodney was perched on a chair at one of the forward consoles. He gestured to them eagerly, and with confused looks, they hurried over to join him, forming a half circle around him. Gazing over the Canadian's shoulder, John looked at the data on the tablet lying atop the console, but could make no sense of it. As he watched, a holographic screen appeared in mid air in front of them. While the Hydra possessed display screens, most of the bridge consoles did not have actual screens before them. The design ethic had intended their operators to receive data through their link with the ship's systems, something Rodney bypassed by using his tablet computer, but the consoles did nonetheless possess the ability for visual data display.

An image of the earth appeared, showing the entire planet, before zooming in rapidly, refocusing on the North American continent. McKay continued to tap on his tablet, from time to time adjusting the console's own crystal controls, and after a few moments three distinct white dots appeared superimposed on the image of the continent. Sheppard eyed them curiously. One was in Alaska, near Anchorage if he was any judge, another in the mid west, and a third on the east coast. John turned expectant eyes on McKay, who was looking both surprised, and rather pleased with himself. "What have you found Rodney," asked Elizabeth at his shoulder.

"Subspace signals, tiny ones."

"I thought you said there weren't any." Said John, slightly confused

"There weren't, not originally. They weren't broadcasting on a frequency the ship's sensors were designed to detect. It's only because I did another more intensive sensor sweep on SGC frequencies that I found them."

"Found what."

"More like found who!" said McKay. At Sheppard angry look, his patented get to the point or else expression, the scientist hurriedly began to explain. "They're personal transmitters, subcutaneous transmitters."

"Whose?" said Weir immediately.

"SG-1" replied McKay.

"SG-1" echoed John in confusion. "Wait, these are our transmitters? Our frequencies and transponders right?" Sheppard was right to be confused. For the last few years, SG teams and Atlantis teams had been implanted with miniature transmitters, a useful measure to help determine their location, primarily in case of capture or accident. Originally just a radio signal, they had in recent times been upgraded to small short ranged subspace transmitters, on a highly specific frequency. Why would there be three such transmitters on this apparently non SGC world. "Exactly!" replied McKay triumphantly. "I mean, I recognised the frequencies immediately. I was partly responsible for the design after all. Those are our frequencies, our transponders, and these three are broadcasting a SG-1 team member beacon. Somehow SG-1 is down there."

"So the question is." Mused Elizabeth "Why are SG-1, or someone using our exact frequencies anyway, down on an Earth where the SGC doesn't seem to exist. It makes no sense, how did they get there?"

"How did we get here?" asked John rhetorically. Everyone grimaced. Despite McKay's best efforts, they still had no real idea what had happened during their escape from their replicator pursuers to throw them across the vast gulf between galaxies and deposit the Hyda's half crippled hulk in Milky Way.

"Could it be a trick?" asked Teyla. "Are we sure that really is SG-1 down there?"

"Well no, but what sort of trick could it be? I mean, nothing makes any sense. How does an Earth, which by the looks of it has barely begun to use the gate, get hold of subspace transmitters, let alone the SGC's frequency?" Rodney ran his hands through his hair, grimacing slightly at the feel of it. He hadn't had a shower for days.

"So what do we do?" said Ronon

"How about we take a jumper down and have a look?" said Sheppard.

"Well by the looks of it these people have barely cracked the gate, i doubt they have any idea about cloaks, let alone an ancient cloak. We should be fine, as long as we're careful." Said McKay, rising out of his chair. Weir held up a hand. "Hold on. Is anyone curious as to why there are only 3 transmitters, or why they scattered across the country? If this is SG-1, and they're from our world/reality or whatever, surely they'd stick together? Also, this world clearly knows about the gate, they've got it at McMurdo. So why are SG-1 not helping?"

Rodney and Sheppard, already half way to the door, paused. She had a point. "Until we get some answers, we have no idea what's going on down there Elizabeth," said Sheppard.

She nodded. "Be careful."

"We will. Takeover will you." He said, gesturing towards the empty command chair. She nodded. "Oh and John," she added just as he was halfway out the door. He turned, looking quizzical. "Try get some food will you." He grinned. "I'll do better, how does coffee sound." Before she could reply he was gone. Ronon and Teyla exchanged smiles. Rodney without coffee had not been fun. With a sigh Elizabeth sank into the captain's chair, feeling the soft fabrics of the command interface adjust to her body. She leant back, and closed her eyes.

A few minutes later, a jumper dropped away from the open hatch to the forward Jumper bay. Dropping smoothly clear of the invisible bulk of the Hydra, the jumpers engine pods extended smoothly, coming to light with a soft glow. As it dropped towards earth's upper atmosphere, there was a ripple, like disturbed water across a lens, and the small ship vanished.

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* * *

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Cameron Roberts, formerly Cameron Mitchell, formerly Colonel, USAF, Team Commander SG-1, swore loudly as his fingers slipped, and he dropped the screwdriver. It clanged against the engine block of the mustang, dropping to the ground underneath the car. He straightened angrily, and in his irritation smacked his head resoundingly against the raised bonnet of the car. He gave a cry of pain, and mindful of the children playing in nearby front gardens, managed to to restrain the stream of curses that threatened to burst from his mouth. He rubbed the back of his head ruefully, feeling the already growing lump.

He lowered himself to the ground, and gazed underneath the car, feeling the rough concrete of the driveway against his chest through the thin fabric of his T-shirt. Spotting the screwdriver, he reached out an arm for it, feeling the play of muscles in his chest as he stretched. His fingers brushed over the handle, until with satisfaction he grabbed the offending tool, and pulled it back towards him. Jumping up, wincing at the head rush, he leant against the car's bumper. Brushing the sweat of a hot Missouri day of his head, he leant down, and by more luck than skill, found the clip he had been tightening before. The screwdriver slotted into it neatly, and with an ease that made him inwardly swear at it, after perhaps a dozen previously abortive attempts, it began to screw close. Finally it was done.

He stood back, gazing happily at the car. It practically gleamed, yellow paint glowing brightly, the chrome of the grills painful in the sun. Neighbours had often admired the work he had done, rebuilding it for the last year from a wreck in a junk yard to almost pristine condition. It was nearly done, and that worried him. The car was his escape. People thought he was building it in his spare time, to start a new life as a restorer, and in truth he had encourage that idea. The reality was, he had begun the project to take his mind off his circumstances, to avoid the reality that was life without the SGC, life without his friends and colleagues. It had actually succeeded, for a while. For 9 long months, living off his government allowance, he had worked on the car, and had managed to forget, to bury it down. The watchers had gradually ceased to watch him so intently, likely recognising, as he had indeed, that Cam had come to accept that there was no future, no return to the past.

Now that the car was almost finished, he couldn't help but wonder what he would do. He could start on another wreck he supposed, but he was reluctant too. He wasn't sure why, perhaps part of him saw trying to forget as a betrayal. Burying everything in the project had worked before, perhaps it would work again. He lived day by day, friendly to his neighbours, but never really making the effort to get to know them. He could somehow not shake the feeling of wrongness. This wasn't his world. He heard footsteps, heels on the concrete behind him, and turned to see another problem. A very attractive problem, to be sure, but a problem nonetheless. The sun made her hair glisten, the effect somewhat like a halo, but there was nothing angelic in her intentions that he was sure.

She offered a glass of water. "I brought you a drink," she said with a smile. "I thought you looked hot." The double meaning was not lost on him.

He smiled politely. "Thanks Jenny," he said, taking the cool glass. She was slim, 10 years younger than him, and married. He had met her husband. He had seemed a nice fellow, and they had a nice kid, a 6 year old with a boy's passion for planes and old cars. "She looks good," said Jenny, walking past him to gaze at the car. She bent over, looking under the bonnet at the gleaming engine, and the fabric of her jeans tightened noticeable around her ass. He looked. Of course he looked. She was trouble, but she was also very hot.

He averted his gaze in time. He was used to this, having played this game with girl friends and girls before. He wondered why she bothered. He had made no signs. He knew she found him attractive. The mystery probably didn't help, he mused, for he had shared very little about himself with them. He had met her through her husband, who had come with her son to look at the car a few months before. Ever since then, she had been growing progressively bolder. The last few times she came, she had come with her kid, using the kid's interest as an excuse for her interest in him. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

"When you going to take her for a ride?" she asked, leaning against the bumper. "I don't know, in a while maybe." He said calmly, his eyes on her face, and not the straining fabric of her top. It was a hot day, so really the look could be explained, but it was still a lot lower than she wore usually. He smiled at her. "Look Jenny I've got to get ready for work ok. Perhaps I'll see you around with Pete, we can have a barbecue or something."

Her smile faltered slightly at the mention of her husband, before snapping back into place. "Sure thing Cam, i look forward to it." She walked past him, her low heels clicking slightly. He walked into the shade of the garage, watching her head for her own front door a few houses along. He gave a wry smile at the wiggle in her hips. She knew he was watching. He leant against the wall, head back. His hand still held the cool glass. He drank, enjoying the refreshing coolness. She gazed over her shoulder at him, hair flowing like a shampoo model. He smiled and as she went inside grimaced slightly. "Damn that's trouble." He muttered out loud.

_  
"Yeh, I'd say so."_

He started, spinning around in surprise. The figure leaning against the shed made his jaw drop. He was perhaps the last person he had expected to ever see again.

_  
"Sheppard?" _he said in disbelief.

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* * *

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Lt Col John Sheppard grinned at him. "Howdy Mitchell" he said tipping an imaginary Stetson.

"Sheppard." Said Mitchell, still sounding slightly stunned. "How the. What the hell are you doing here?" he said, taking in the battered SGC overalls, the distinctive Atlantis patch on one shoulder. He noted also the distinctly un-regulation beard and stubble. Sheppard shot him bemused look, his earlier amusement vanishing like a mask. "Funny, I could ask you the same thing?" he said, his tone cool. "Where's the rest of SG-1?"

Mitchell shot him a confused look. "You don't know?"

Sheppard shook his head. "All we got were subcutaneous transmitter signals, and the SG-1 tag. Only three."

He took in Mitchell's appearance, and gestured to the car and house. "Mitchell, if you don't mind me asking. What the hell's going on? What's happened to the SGC?"

Cam's brain, which had until then acting somewhat like a sticking record, suddenly whirred back into action. He hurriedly glanced around, taking in with relief Sheppard's position in the shadow of his garden shed, hidden from the road or next door by the shed and a tall hedge. Jenny had not seen him, and as far as he was aware, none of the government watchers were on duty. Still, there was not point taking risks. The house wasn't bugged, as far as he was aware, he swept it fairly often.

"We shouldn't discuss this in the open Colonel," he said quietly. Sheppard nodded. Cam gestured to the open garage door, breathing a silent sigh of relief as Sheppard followed him inside, into the safety of his kitchen. He shut the garage door, and turned to find Sheppard leaning against a counter, a Beretta in his hand.

Cam froze. "Is that really necessary?" he said, indicating the pistol with a flick of his eyes.

Sheppard's face was like a mask. Cam studied the man. He looked exhausted, and cold, so unlike the jovial joking figure he had met on their visit to Atlantis. "It is until I know I can trust you."

"Well how do I prove that" he said, slowly setting down the water glass he still held, making sure to keep his hands clearly in sight of the man holding a gun on him.

Sheppard considered that. "What did i give you when you came to visit? When you were worried about Rodney."

Cam snorted. He couldn't help it. "A lemon" Sheppard's gun didn't waver.

"Your callsign?"

"Shaft" he answered laconically

"Who was with you when you came to visit us in Pegasus"

"The rest of SG-1. Carter, Jackson, Vala. Teal'c" he could swear Sheppard's finger tightened slightly, "_wasn't_ there because he was on an Al'kesh in Milky Way by the Ori supergate." he said hurriedly. Sheppard let out a breath, and lowered the gun.

Cam didn't move. "Happy?" he said with a definite twitch of sarcasm.

Sheppard slid the pistol back inside his jacket. "Sorry." Cam watched the man. Sheppard ran his fingers through his hair, and slumped slightly against the counter. He saw the man's gaze fall upon a ball of fruit. Sheppard met his eyes.

Cam waved a hand. "Help yourself."

Sheppard selected an apple, and bit into it with obvious satisfaction. Seeing the blissful expression his visitor's face, Cam guessed the man hadn't eaten for a while. "Hungry?" he asked. Sheppard grinned at him. "Starved. I haven't eaten anything since yesterday, and we've had nothing but emergency rations for weeks before that."

Mitchell winced, MRE's were not the most palatable things. He shot Sheppard a sympathetic look. "What happened?" Sheppard paused in his eating of the apple. "Long story." He took another bite and chewed. "You?" he said, managing not to spit with a mouthful of apple.

"Long story. You said we?" Sheppard nodded.

"Me, Rodney, Elizabeth, Ronon and Teyla."

Sheppard finished the apple, chucking it unerringly into the garbage. "How about you guys. We only got three signals. I thought there were five of you?" Cam shook his head. "Me, Carter and Jackson. They split us up, the other two aren't with us."

"Off world?"

"Not exactly."

Sheppard shot him an irritated look, but didn't push. "Ok, you're here. That means the other two will be Carter and Jackson. We'll have to go get them." Cam gave a small smile at the prospect of seeing his friends. "We're being watched by the government, we'll have to be careful."

Sheppard assimilated that. "Not a problem"

"You know where they are?" said Cam. Witness protection, and the changed name had made it impossible for him to find his friends. Daniel was bad enough, Sam was probably stashed away somewhere out of the way. Considering what her original had done, they probably had done a good job hiding her. Sheppard nodded. "Two signals, not sure which is which. One's on the east coast. Looked like Virginia to me. The other's up north, Alaska, outside Anchorage I think. McKay can tell you."

"The one is Alaska is probably Carter," Cam suggested. When Sheppard shot him a curious look he explained her situation. "Creepy. Probably want her where they can keep an eye on her. Elmendorf AFB is near there." Sheppard paused. "I might be easier to get her first; the other signal looked like it was in the middle of a city."

"How we getting around. I take it you didn't drive, not like that." he said, gesturing to Sheppard's military coveralls and webbing. In everyday life he would stand out like a sore thumb. Sheppard smirked. "We've got a sweeter ride than that car of yours." He eyed Cam thoughtfully. "Speaking of clothes, I don't suppose you've got some clean stuff i can borrow? If we're moving around we're going to need something less military."

Cam nodded. He gestured for Sheppard to follow him and lead him upstairs, showing him the bathroom and closet.

A few minutes later a somewhat transformed Sheppard came down. He had shaved, probably somewhat painfully, considering the thickness of the beard, and was dressed simply in jeans, a shirt and a flannel jacket. In his hand he held his gear, which he had stuffed into a bag. Cam handed him another bag, into which he had in the intervening time stuffed as much food and drink as it could fit. Another similarly bulging bag stood on the table.

_  
"Nice"_ said Sheppard after inspecting the contents. "Got any coffee?" he said while opening cupboards. Cam gestured at the appropriate cabinet. A couple of minutes later, the bag contained two full thermoses, milk, sugar, a few packets of decaf, and Cam's kettle. At his rather bemused look, especially with the inclusion of the last, Sheppard gave a small smile. "I promised Elizabeth," he paused, then added, "plus Rodney keeps whining," he said with a mock grimace. "He does work better with coffee."

He nodded to Cam. "We're probably going to be gone for a while." Cam nodded, and set about locking up the house. Putting away the mustang, he shut the garage door and back inside hurriedly began to gathering together his few possessions. There wasn't much, but at Sheppard's suggestion he brought washing gear, along with several changes of clothes. He quickly changed, purposefully putting on some thicker layers, in anticipation of Alaska.

As they exited the back door Cam shut and locked it. He turned, to find Sheppard had disappeared, as had several of the bags. He paused, slightly confused, only for Sheppard to reappear suddenly a meter away. He held out a hand for the remaining bags. Realising what had happened and feeling slightly stupid, Cam passed them to him, stepping after him into what was seemingly mid air. He felt a hard surface suddenly beneath his feet, instead of soft grass, and found himself in the rear of a brightly lit puddle-jumper. Sheppard was inside. He walked forward up the ramp through the rear section, into the fore-compartment. One of the chairs to the left spun around, to reveal another familiar face.

"Nice to see you McKay."

The scientist nodded at him. "Thanks for the food Colonel." He held out a hand, and Cam shook it. He didn't really know McKay, aside from what Sam had told him, and his experiences with the Super Gate. He knew the scientist could be a real ass, but he seemed ok at the moment. Cam reached into a pocket of his coat, and pulled out a chocolate bar he'd stashed there. It was, he thought, more than a little amusing how McKay's face lit up. Cam smirked inwardly at that. The beard was rather funny too. He held the chocolate for a few seconds, then tossed it. He caught a brief "thanks," before the Canadian began to devour it like a hungry wolf.

Cam walked forward and seated himself in the co-pilot's seat on the right hand side of the craft. Sheppard who had finished stowing the bags and shutting the hatch, slid smoothly into the pilot's seat, with a grace that spoke of long practice. As he touched the controls, the jumper lit up, the consoles and DHD coming to light with a soft blue light. As Cam looked out the forward viewport into his garden, he reflected Sheppard had clearly made a damn good landing. The yard was small, with trees at one end and the house at the other. It was a difficult place to land, but Sheppard had apparently touched down without him even noticing.

The engines came to light with a soft hum, and then if it were not for the view through the viewport, he would have never have known they had left the ground. The ground dropped away, as they rose above the tree tops into the sky. After a few seconds, he heard a brief whirring, and he guessed the drive pods were extending. With a soft hum Sheppard pulled the jumper upwards into a climb, the near vertical movement as easy for the passengers as if they were still in steady flight, thanks to the sophisticated inertial system and gravity. At Cam's curious look, Sheppard grinned. "In this thing it's probably quicker going up and over from here," he explained, as the Jumper passed 100 000 feet and sped swiftly upwards, leaving the ground further and further behind.

As the sky above darkened, Cam leant back in his chair, and felt, contentment. He had missed this, he had missed space, spacecraft, friends. Not having to hide. The whole thing had felt like a line he had read in a book once. "It was like feeding someone a glorious meal, and then living for the rest of their life on bread and water." Sheppard caught his happy grin, and began to level off. They were at the very edge of space, and if we're not for the artificial gravity, they would all currently be weightless. The whole of the United states was stretched out beneath them, the

"Let's go get Carter shall we," he said with a grin, and with that the jumper's nose dropped, heading towards the frozen North West.

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* * *

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Sam shivered, the wind cutting at her immediately she stepped out of the well heated shop into the street. It was early summer, but a vicious breeze was sweeping in off the sea. The high sided buildings along the street funnelled the wind, tugging at her scarf, but she pulled it secure, feeling the comforting warmth of the wool against her neck. It had seemed a bitter taunt, 9 months ago, when she was exiled to Alaska, doubly cruel after their ordeal on the ice, but she had gradually become resigned to it. It was an exile, she knew that. The others, she guessed, were in some of the southern states, as separate from each other as possible.

Apparently they considered her the really dangerous one, not just because of her appearance but also her technical skill, and had placed her accordingly, within 3 miles of a major Air force base. She could actually see the field from her apartment. She was also, by intention or not she was still unsure, directly under the flightpath. The noise had never bothered her, but perhaps for that reason, her building had few tenants. The rest of them thought her a recluse, a loner. None had identified her, the thick glasses, awful hairstyle and reclusiveness had seen to that.

She was being watched, she knew that. She wasn't being tailed, not anymore, but she was sure she was still under surveillance. For several months they had had her working in a small government office, handling shipping. The work had occasionally involved military transportation, but she had always been allocated menial administrative tasks. It had bored her to near distraction. Albert Einstein might have worked for 13 years in a Swiss Patent office as nothing more than a glorified office clerk, but Albert Einstein hadn't been strictly banned from following his other interests.

It had been a test, a trial period, seeing if she would play along, not rock the boat, get herself noticed. Apparently she had passed, because for the last 2 months she had been in a better job, equally anonymous, but with better pay and hours. On a whim she had with her better pay bought a cello. It was nothing much, but it was something she had always wanted to learn. She had been taking lessons, and in the evenings, when darkness came early, she practiced. The music allowed her to escape. She had long had a passion for classical music, something few but her closest friends had been aware of. She was, she had realised one day, truly starting a new life. She was never happy though. The threat the Goa'uld posed brooded on the edge of her consciousness every waking hour. Baal was like a sword of Damocles. She knew he would return, knew the bastard would come back, and in truth she wanted revenge, revenge for the theft of her life.

She had taken to browsing the internet, frequenting forums and message boards. UFO spotters and cults mainly, looking for signs of the Goa'uld. It was with some relief that she noted there was no sign of any cult of Seth, active or otherwise. She never wrote anything on the boards, for she was certain she was being monitored. Her phone lines were certainly tapped, not that she used her phone much. She had no one to call. She had, once a few months ago, bought a copy of Science Today, and flipping through the articles, found one by no less than a Dr M. R. McKay. There had been a photo, showing an affluent looking Rodney, apparently working in the private sector. He had looked arrogant, the spitting image of the old McKay. It was another brutal reminder of how different things were here. She wondered if her other self had known him, remembering how in another reality she had apparently even been married to him.

Clutching at her bags, she stepped down the steps and began to walk along the pavement, the wind full in her face. The pavement was crowded, full of equally muffled shoppers, with thick clothes, scarves and more than a few balaclavas against the wind. She tugged her hat down further upon her head, feeling it tug at the glasses she now always wore, and ducking her head into the wind, continued down the street towards where her car was parked. She walked mechanically, her mind far away, only half concentrating where she was going. She passed a travel agent, her eyes wistfully flickering to images of Egypt, and the pyramids.

In idle moments, she had toyed with the idea of somehow escaping the planet. She was aware of at least one spacecraft still operable, that of Osiris in Egypt, but getting there would be near impossible, and she was still unable to contact Cam or Daniel. Even they had managed to make contact; she did not actually possess a passport. There were other means of course, but she was fairly sure her absence even for a day would launch a silent man hunt. The concept of building her own Stargate she had dismissed as impossible, even if she could get the resources, whatever Orlin might have done. At the time it had occurred to her with a judder that the kind ancient who had sacrificed so much for them was still alive in this timeline. What did the ancients make of things? Were they even aware of what had changed? As Daniel had told her, they were not all knowing, regardless of their power.

So lost in her musing was she, that she barely noticed that the side street she was crossing. Hunched against the wind, she also didn't notice the pickup until it was almost too late. There was a squeal of breaks, and she looked up in horror to see a huge chrome bumper sliding towards her. She hurled herself out the way, slipped, and banged her knee painfully against the curb. The truck stopped short of her, a window sliding open, and a torrent of abuse was hurled at her. She picked herself painfully up off the curb, preparing in her ill humour to reciprocate, but with a grunt of its diesel engine, the truck pulled away again before she could say anything.

Swearing quietly to herself, she retrieved her shopping bags from the road, grimacing at the oil and grit on her coat. A firm hand took her arm, and she tensed instinctively, but turning around, she saw the badge and coat of a cop. With a firm grip he helped her fully to her feet, letting go only when she showed no signs of injury. He had a weathered friendly face, brown eyes and dark moustache. He looked to be about 40, and from his accent, had definitely grown up locally

"Are you ok Maam?" he enquired, clearly having noticed her winces of pain. "Just a bruise I think officer," said Sam, inwardly cursing herself even more. She was supposed to be staying out of the limelight. She checked her glasses carefully, but her disguise was intact, despite her tumble.

"Are you sure?" he said, concern evident, "that looked like a nasty fall." "I'm ok," said Sam, less than truthfully, for her left leg was still stinging, and the trouser leg was sodden. "I wasn't looking where i was going," she admitted ruefully.

"Easily done Maam." said the cop, apparently satisfied she wasn't too badly hurt. "It was his fault too. He shouldn't have been going so fast anyway. Are you going to press charges?"

Sam shot him a disbelieving look at the latter. He shrugged, "some people these days like too." She shook her head. He smiled slightly, then tugged out his notepad. "I'm still going to have to report him for dangerous driving though." he said calmly, anchoring the blowing pages of the book with a practised finger, and jotting down the license number of the truck that had driven off as he approached. When he had finished he looked up at her. "May I have your name, address and contact number please Maam?"

It wasn't a request, despite the polite wording, and so with a blank face Sam gave her details to the cop. He jotted down the name speedily, Samantha Robinson, and looked up at her curiously for a moment as he read the first name. She said nothing, only giving him a thin smile, which was marred by wince of pain as her throbbed. He nodded, his curiosity fading as quickly as it had arisen, and swiftly jotted down the rest of her details, before tucking the note book away in a pocket. Despite her protests, he insisted on seeing her to her car, only a few meters further down the street, and after requesting that she drive carefully and see a doctor, left her alone.

Sam sank into the driver's seat with a curse. Scrabbling behind her seat, she found an old towel she used to clean the windscreen, and tucked underneath her sodden trouser leg to save the leather of the seat. The car was a early model Chevy, battered but comfortable. After a few weeks of discussion with her air force handlers, she had managed to persuade them a sedan wasn't going to cut it. The jeep was older than her originally provided vehicle, but it was also sturdier and safer in bad weather. She had spent several weeks working on the engine in her garage, until it practically purred. Inserting the key in the ignition she brought the engine to life with a rumble, the engine still warm from her earlier journey. Steadily warming air came from the vents, and she leant back for a moment, enjoying the warmth. Before she could pull out, there was a sudden knock on the passenger side door. Turning, expecting to see the cop again, she was amazed to see a face she hadn't seen for 9 months.

Cameron Mitchell, huddled in a thick jacket but no gloves, tapped again on the side door, gesturing for her to open it. She glanced around, but could see nothing else suspicious, and leaning across flicked the switch to unlock the passenger door. It opened with a sudden rush of freezing air, before a rather windswept looking Cameron Mitchell hurriedly slid into her passenger seat, closing the door behind him. He grinned at her.

"Heya Carter."

"Cam?" she said in disbelief. "How, what are you doing here?"

"Seeing you of course" he said, holding his hands up to the warm air coming from the air vents with a sigh of pleasure. "Dammit," he said swearing, "I forgot how cold Alaska could be compared to Missouri." He grinned at her again. "How you doing Sam" he said, then yelped slightly as she pulled him into an awkward hug. The stick dug into her ankle painfully, but she held her friend close for several seconds, overjoyed to see someone she knew again. He smiled awkwardly, patting her on the back a few times.

After a few moments she untangled herself and drew back. "How did you find me?" He reached in a pocket and tugged out a silver object about the size of a small book, passing it to her. She gazed at it in amazement, recognising it immediately. "This is Ancient. Where on earth did you get it?"

"From some friends. Long story short though, I've been tracking your subcutaneous transmitter signal," he said, gesturing to the screen. She gazed at the glowing display, and saw two white dots, sat next to each other. "We never told them," she said. "Nope," he agreed, "which means they never removed them, and if we're quick we can find Jackson too. I imagine you're being watched?"

She nodded, still trying to take everything in.

"Yeh, me too. Are they still tailing you?"

She shook her head. "Not for a few months now."

"Cool. Here, take this, just in case" He said, reaching into his pocket yet again and passing her a unfamiliar shape. It was silver, shaped a bit like a torch, with a handle at one end, and some sort of crystal at the other. From its design she was sure it was not made on earth. At her questioning glance, he explained. "Ancient stunner. Press the firing stud there," he said, indicating the appropriate place, "and it will knock someone out for while." She nodded, examining it for a second, before sliding it into the pocket of her jacket, along with the Ancient hand scanner.

"What's the plan?"

"Is it safe to go back to your place?"

"Should be. Why, what's there."

"I'll tell you on the way. Let's get going. I don't like the way that cop is looking at us."

Sam looked up worriedly, following the line of his gaze, and saw the cop which had helped her standing about 20 metres away. He was gazing at their car with an intent expression, and as she watched, he reached for his radio. "Shit," she said, and tugging the engine into gear, with a quick glance pulled out into the traffic. Luckily traffic was moving steadily, and as they moved away in the opposite direction from the cop they were soon out of sight.

"So how did you get here." She said, as she weaved the big jeep in and out of afternoon traffic.

"Puddle-jumper."

She shot him an incredulous look. "Where did you find a jumper in Missouri?"

He shook his head. "I didn't find one. IT found me. Look this will sound a little crazy, but Sheppard and McKay are following us in a jumper right now." From her expression, Sam was clearly wondering if he was actually crazy. He carried on anyway. "The rest of his team are on a ship they've got a ship in orbit. That's how they found me. They came out of Hyperspace about a day ago, and the only familiar signal they could pick up were our transmitters."

"How is that possible? Why weren't they affected?"

"I was kind of helping you could tell me. Shouldn't Baal's time machine thingy have affected Atlantis as well?"

"Yes. And McKay's not with the government in this timeframe. I saw him in a science periodical. He's working with some big company in Silicon Valley," she said, her brain working furiously, even as the Chevy left the city centre and took the highway towards the outskirts of town.

"Well, perhaps them being in Hyperspace protected them like we were or something" said Mitchell, sounding as confused as she was. "All I know is less than 2 hours ago, Sheppard turned up in a jumper with McKay in my back garden outside Illinois. They want answers too. For now, I think we should concentrate less on the why, and more on the avoiding the government issue."

"Agreed" she said, still turning the facts over in her head. "So why are we going to my apartment?"

"Firstly because Sheppard didn't fancy landing a jumper in the middle of the city, cloak or not, and secondly because we might be on their ship for a while. According to Sheppard, they're more than a little short on supplies. The ship's an ancient one, so all they had to eat were the MRE's in their jumper, and they ran out yesterday. I guessed you might want to collect some clothes, food, gear that sort of thing."

Sam nodded. That made sense. "Where are they going to land?" Mitchell's brows furrowed. "We hadn't actually got that far. Have you got a garden or roof terrace of something?"

"There's a roof and a stairway up to it." she replied.

"Great." Said Cam, unzipping his jacket to reveal a standard SGC radio package. He threaded the headset up through his shirt collar and onto into place around his ear. "Sheppard this is Mitchell do you copy?"

_  
"Reading you loud and clear Mitchell. Go ahead." _crackled the radio, and Sam's hands shook ever so slightly on thw wheel as she heard the familiar voice of Colonel John Sheppard. She tightened her grip firmly. She was still half afraid she was dreaming this whole thing, that any moment she would wake up and find herself in bed.

"We're on our way to Carter's place. According to Sam there's a roof and roof access you guys can land on. We should be there in... standby." Cam turned to Sam. "About 10 minutes", she said, answering his unspoken question. He tapped his radio again. "Time of arrival estimated at 10 minutes, depending on traffic. Once there give us a couple of minutes to get things together. Look sharp, we might, i repeat, might have tipped off the authorities that something's up."

_"Roger that. We'll keep an eye open. We're right behind you at about one thousand."_

"Tell them to watch out for aircraft", warned Sam hurriedly. "My apartment is right under the flight path for Elmendorf"

"Sheppard did you copy that?" said Cam, who had opened the channel once Sam started to speak.

_  
"Acknowledged. Thanks for the warning Colonels, we'll keep an eye open for other birds. See you in ten."_

Far above, John Sheppard closed the radio channel, and watched the dark grey shape of Carter's Chevy. Up ahead he could already see the lights of Elmendorf, and although the powerful radars of the Airport and USAF towers could not see him, the Jumper's sensors could detect everything landing, approaching or taxiing on the field. Hell, it could even pick out service vehicles and dollys on the tarmac. As he watched, the pregnant form of a C130 transport, bearing the markings of the Marine Corp, hurtled down one of the long runways to climb ponderously into the air. It was well clear of them, but even so he reduced altitude, the grey form of the car they were following increasing in size through the view port as their altitude decreased.

Grateful he did not have to hug the ground, which aside from being extremely dangerous, would have brought back too many bad memories of his days in Afghanistan, the invisible puddle-jumper followed Carter and Mitchell, heading steadily northwards towards the suburbs.

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* * *

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15 minutes later, Sam finished stuffing practically her entire wardrobe into 3 duffel bags. Into another she had already crammed toiletries and medicines. Cam was at the window, watching the road leading up to her block. The blinds were drawn, except for a small corner, and the radio was on loud to help disguise their words from any bugs she might have missed. They spoke very little anyway, having discussed what she should bring on the the car journey. She didn't have many things, and thankfully most of them were practical, but at Cam's quiet suggestion she had packed some extra clothes and female things for Dr Weir and Teyla. Anyway aside from that, there was little else except for Sam's private notes about what she thought might have happened, and her laptop and printer.

As she piled the bags and the couple of boxes by her front door, Mitchell drew the blinds fully closed. He walked up to her, speaking in her ear over the noise of the music from the radio. "Ready?" She nodded, taking the opportunity to stuff a couple of packets of biscuits and her shopping into the last box. A strange urge made her toss in the periodical with McKay's article in it too. Perhaps he would find it funny.

As she slung some of the bags over her shoulder, Mitchell shut off the music. Then he got on his radio, calling down Sheppard and the jumper. Once the pilot acknowledged, the pair of them dragged open her front door and started to move the bags up the fire steps onto the roof. The door to the roof was locked, but the door was weak, and gave way fairly easily. As the door opened, above the noise of the wind, Sam heard the familiar humming noise of jumper engines. There was a thud of metal a couple of meters before them, and she saw a plank of wood lying discarded on the flat roof surface splinter as something heavy landed on it.

The noise of the engines died away, but over the whistle of the wind she heard the whirring of something mechanical. Then before her suddenly appeared Rodney McKay, with an impressive growth of stubble and wearing a battered looking pair of SGC overalls. They gazed at each other, and then dropping her load to the ramp, she tugged him into a tight hug. He froze. He never had been that good at displays of affection. After a few moments he placed his arms around her too, pulling her into a surprisingly strong embrace. His cheek bristled slightly against hers. He smelt too. She didn't mind. After a few moments she let go, and stepped back.

"It's good to see you again Rodney," she said warmly. He nodded. "Likewise." He surveyed her. "The glasses are new," he commented, slightly hesitantly.

Sam raised her hands to her face, and felt the awful lenses, the sign of her imprisonment, that she was still wearing out of habit. She tugged them off her face and with childish pleasure hurled them away across the roof.

"Better?" she enquired. McKay gave a small smile, and she was struck by how the man before had changed since they first met almost 10 years ago.

He gestured behind him, and picking up her bags she walked forwards until suddenly she felt sloping metal beneath her feet. Next thing, she was walking into the rear compartment of a Puddle Jumper, the warm glow of lighting and gleam of bronze all around her. Through the open hatch into the pilot's compartment she could see the dark haired form of Sheppard at the controls. He swivelled in his chair and waved at her, and after a brief smile she she dumped her bag on the floor and went back for the rest. Mitchell passed her, carrying a box, and McKay heaved on another bag, carrying it up the ramp into the rear of the ship. Soon everything was loaded, and she ran back down the stairs. Thankfully the apartment that had been her home for the last 9 months was on the top floor of the building. She had meant just to lock the door; for her absence would be noticed far sooner should her apartment be found unlocked and stripped. Some strange urge drew her inside however, and she gazed briefly around. It had been home, but it didn't feel like it. Cam joined her, standing at her shoulder.

"Sam, we've got to go."

She nodded, and her eyes fell on the cello, currently in its case leaning against the wall next to the music stand. She hesitated, before grabbing the case and taking it with her. Mitchell gave her a curious look, but made no comment. He took hold of the case for her, as she slid her key into the outer lock and turned it. The lock clicked softly, and then she followed him hurriedly up the stairs onto the roof. At Rodney's direction, they walked carefully up the ramp into the Jumper, and before Cam had even had a chance to put the cello down, McKay had already hit the control to raise the ramp. The engines came to life with a loud hum, and after checking the cargo was secure, the two members of SG-1 joined McKay and Sheppard in the forward compartment.

To her amusement Rodney had attempted to straighten his overalls and tidy his hair while they had been gone. It hadn't changed much. In her opinion, he still looked like he'd been dragged through a haystack and then strategically shaved. Or not shaved, as the case may be, she thought, noting again with amusement that for the first time in her memory, the Canadian's cheeks were covered in thick stubble.

Behind her, Cam took in the scientist's obvious attempts at self-sprucing with a grin. Underneath the amusement however, Mitchell was a little concerned. He had never thought Sam was really the hugging type. Or rather, he hadn't thought she was. It had occurred to him earlier during their drive that while in many ways he knew his friend very well, there were parts of her life he knew nothing about. Others like Jackson and even McKay had known her for longer than himself. She was brave, oh god was she brave, but he wasn't sure of her mood right now. How though had their 9 month isolation affected her? It hadn't been pleasant for him, that he knew for certain.

Beside him Sam's sharp eyes had picked out the tablet wired into the console that was the Jumper's equivalent of a science station. Rodney noticed the direction of her gaze. "I've been trying to work out exactly where Dr Jackson is. We've got the jumper's sensors of course, but I'm trying to key them into the Hydra's sensor data. Want to help?"

"Sure," said Sam enthusiastically, sliding into the seat, and taking hold of the SGC tablet wired into the ancient systems.

Mitchell shared a thoughtful look with McKay. The scientist returned it intently for a few moments, then turned and settled himself in a seat across from Sam, leaning over to survey her work, and within moments the two of them were deep in discussion.

Mitchell slipped past them, sliding into the co-pilot's chair in front of Carter, across from Sheppard. He gazed forward. McKay was better at judging people than he had thought. Cam was fairly certain the Canadian had suggested Carter help deliberately to take her mind off things. He wondered for a few moments if he wasn't reading too much into the situation, but then a meaningful look from Sheppard as the pilot leaned to adjust something on the central panel confirmed his earlier suspicions. Whatever else, McKay clearly cared for Sam, and that was the important thing. All the same, it occurred to him that he really didn't know these people too well.

He gazed around the jumper, taking in the advanced technology, the ship and pilot that was their salvation from exile, the confident movements of Sheppard at the controls. They were definitely growing on him though, he had to admit that!

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**End of Chapter 1**

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**A/N: Have i mentioned recently that i hate how 's uploader screws up all the formatting, even when i spend ages trying to space it back out again! Sorry if the text is cramped, but not my fault!**


	3. Chapter 2 Renewed Valour

**Disclaimer:**

**All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the authors. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I do not own the rights or characters to Stargate Atlantis or to Stargate Continuum.**

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**Richmond, Virginia: United States of America  
7th of May 2008  
Aprox 7 PM Eastern Standard Time  
**.

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The sun glowed low on the western horizon, the buildings of the city below casting long shadows that lengthened steadily as the sun dipped. From far above, Sam could see the dying rays reflecting golden off the waters of the James River, which stretched out west towards the distant waters of Hampton Roads. From her perspective it was still early afternoon. Here, on the other side of the country from Alaska, evening was already fast drawing in. She guessed that the time here was near seven in the evening, a good four hours different from that street in Alaska. Already it seemed so long ago.

She gazed at down at the buildings of Richmond Virginia, upon which lights were already glowing. Their Jumper hung motionless above the city center, at an altitude of almost a thousand feet. Somewhere far below them, oblivious to their presence, was Daniel. She wondered what he was doing. She pulled back from the stunning view, taking her hands off the forward console she had been leaning on, and turned to Sheppard. Clearly anticipating her question, at his command a holographic screen coalesced in front of the pilot's station, displaying a map of the city. A white dot glowed clearly on the edge of the city center.

"That's Jackson?" queried Mitchell

"Yep." Said Sam. "Problem is, it looks like he's right in the middle of town" she said grimacing. As she spoke the display had altered, to show the topography from ground level. Jackson's dot glowed brightly, high up the side of one of the tall apartment buildings. All around were other taller buildings, and busy streets. It was going to be difficult to get close with the jumper. "Can we land on the roof again?" suggested Sheppard. Jackson's building had a nice flat roof."Possibly," said Cam, surveying the screen.

"The problem is those taller buildings all around Jackson's." He gestured to them. Everyone saw the problem immediately. It was getting dark, but it was still light enough that the roof of Jackson's 6 or 7 story apartment block was highly visible to anyone looking out the windows of the many taller buildings that overlooked it." Cloak or no cloak, it would only take one observant person to notice people mysterious disappearing into thin air and calling the media, and there'd be a news crew there in minutes. Not to mention the inevitable government watchers, which both Carter and Mitchell knew would probably still be watching the building.

"Can we wait until its dark and land then?" suggested Sheppard. Carter and Mitchell shook their heads. "It's only been an hour or so, but Sam and I are going to be missed pretty soon" said Mitchell grimly. "They might have noticed we're missing already, and if so the first place they're going to come is here. We haven't got long."

Sheppard nodded. "How do you want to play this?"

Mitchell surveyed the ground around Daniel's buildings. Power lines crisscrossed many of the streets, and billboards were set atop the roofs of the low shopping buildings above which various office blocks and apartment buildings would he thought be a nightmare through which to maneuver a vessel, even as nimble as the jumper, in order to reach the ground. Even if it was possible, there were few open spaces to set down upon, for the streets were busy with people and vehicles. For at least 2 city blocks around the apartment building the situation looked equally unpromising, but just to the east lay a park, a less well lit expanse of greenery and dense bushes that should provide just enough cover.

He pointed. "Set us down over there." Sheppard nodded, and the jumper began to descend swiftly. Cam checked his clothing, making sure his radio was concealed, but still easily accessible. "Carter and I will go. You too aren't really dressed for this, and anyway neither of us can pilot a jumper." Sam nodded. "He's right. She gazed around. "Got any spare radios?" McKay rose from his seat and rummaging in an overhead locker, pulled out a case. Unclipping it's latches, he handed her a standard SGC coms rig, which she fixed into place with practiced ease.

"Do you want any weapons?" called Sheppard over his shoulder from the front of the cockpit, concentrating on bringing the jumper in for a silent landing.

"We'll stick to the stunners." declined Cam, checking his own, which he had been given prior to meeting Carter. "We've never actually had the chance to test them." pointed out Rodney, "but we've had them used on us. Well, sort of. They should just knock someone out, but watch out they're pretty short-ranged."

"Good to know" thanked Mitchell, sliding his out of his jacket pocket briefly and reacquainting himself with the controls.

"Coming up on the ground" warned Sheppard over his shoulder.

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* * *

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In a shadowy corner of the park the grass and shrubs of one small inoffensive border were suddenly flattened under the invisible weight of a good ton of spaceship. There was a low mechanical humming, barely audible further away than 100 yards over the sounds of the city, and suddenly two dark figures appeared out of mid air. They immediately ducked into a patch of deeper shadow cast by a large bank of shrubs, watching warily for any signs their arrival had been noticed. There were none. As the two figures consulted a small handheld device, the screen glowing faintly in the shadow, there came the louder noise of the jumper's engines powering up.

The loud humming, over which the sounds of the hurriedly resealing hatch were almost inaudible, diminished rapidly as the Jumper rose smoothly back into the air. Less than a minute later, the only trace of what occurred in that shadowy corner was the flattened patch of grass, and the crumpled remains of what had moments previously been a rose bed blooming with colourful flowers.

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* * *

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As Sheppard's jumper rose smoothly into the steadily darkening sky Sam and Cam, guided by the signal on the ancient scanner Cam still held, proceeded swiftly towards their destination.

Their warm clothes caused no surprise or idle comment, for at this time of year the evenings were cold here, and the pair of them walked swiftly along the brightly lit and busy sidewalks. The pavements were busy with office workers returning home, or people heading out for their evening's entertainment, but they made good time. Ahead of them, the office buildings surrounding Daniel's apartment block rose into the sky, with cleaners and departing office workers clearly visible in their brightly lit windows.

Sam kept her head down, sticking close to Cam's side. In her joy of freedom, she had forgotten to anticipate that she would have to go out in public once more. She regretted now the absence of her camouflage, fearing that without the glasses someone would recognize her and the delay would cost them vital time. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice, and the pair hurried on. After perhaps 5 minutes, they were standing across from Daniel's building. Ducking out of the crowd into the shelter of a doorway, they consulted the ancient scanner. The dot glowed steadily, clearly coming from the upper floors of the building in front of them.

It was a nice enough looking building. Not that expensive, but comfortable. A cheerful entrance foyer, well trimmed shrubs on either side of the revolving doors. There was also, they both noticed with slight dismay, a clear reception desk visible on the other side of the glass doors. They had no idea of Daniel's new identity, and they could hardly produce a picture. Worse still if the government's had a watcher among the building staff, then their appearance could raise the alarm, assuming it hadn't been raised already. "What do you think?" muttered Cam in Sam's ear, pretending to check his watch. "I don't see a gate." She replied, eyeing what little of the interior they could see. Behind the desk she could clearly discern the doors of an elevator. "It depends how security conscious the staff are."

"Risk it?" he suggested.

"Do we have any option?" she replied tensely.

"Not really." He admitted, sounding none to happy himself.

He stepped out of the doorway, and after eyeing the street carefully in either direction, ostensibly for oncoming traffic, but really for any signs of surveillance or government presence, he crossed over. Sam followed him, also subtly checking the street for signs of watchers. They pushed through the revolving doors, into the warmth of the lobby, and walked purposefully towards the elevator doors. The guard at reception raised his eyes from his newspaper, swept them with an assessing glance, then apparently satisfied they did not look like thieves returned to his paper.

Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Sam pressed the call button. Thankfully the doors opened immediately, and they stepped into the elevator. Pressing the door shut button, the pair waited patiently for the doors to slide closed, before checking the scanner again. Guessing from the position of the dot, Cam pressed the button for the 4th floor. As lights above the elevator doors in the lobby flicked from ground to 1, then 2, the guard at reception lowered his paper carefully, and pulled a radio from a drawer. He spoke into it urgently, gazing at the illuminated numerals carefully. He watched them stop on '4'. A few streets down from the apartment block, a number of engines roared into life. Headlights illuminated the side alley they were concealed in, scattering the gathering shadow, as half a dozen black 4x4s responded to their spotter's radio call.

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* * *

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As if from a great distance, through the dim haze of alcohol and sleepiness, he heard the chimes of the door bell. He ignored it, sinking deeper into the fabric of his chair, tugging his dressing gown closer around him. As the chimes continued, becoming more insistent he groaned in annoyance, and peered blearily at his watch. It was almost 7 pm. The entire day had gone by, and he hadn't even got dressed. He knew he should get up, should go answer the door, but he just couldn't be bothered. He clumsily lowered his arm down to his side, only to give a curse of irritation as he knocked over the bottle of wine on a side table. It was less than a quarter full, but the liquid flooded over the carpet and chair, dowsing his right leg in wetness. He sprang up, cursing, while all the while in the background the door chimes continued incessantly.

The smell of the alcohol was overpowering, enough to make his stomach lurch, as he swayed dizzily. He reached for the stick he kept handy for moving around. He rarely used the prosthetic unless when he had too. He hadn't bucked it on today, hell he hadn't even shaved.  
It sat in the corner of the bedroom, an arrangement of soft plastics, metal and artificial flesh. He hated it. He surveyed the floor and then himself, with no small disgust.

He had let himself go. It happened every now and then. He had work at a bookstore, something undemanding, boring, and the owner was a nice man, fairly tolerant. The first time Daniel had drunk himself senseless for a weekend, the man had understood, but firm. It was a Sunday today, thankfully. Tugging off the dressing gown with one hand, he dropped it to the ground, atop the spilt wine. Underneath he wore only boxer shorts and a warm t-shirt. He hoped over to the dresser, and pulled out a pair of tracksuit bottoms. Falling back on the bed he tugged them on, all the while cursing under his breath the incessant noise of the door chimes.

Who would want to see him so urgently at _7 pm on a Sunday night _for goodness sake? Even the government kept more sociable hours.

They checked up on him from time to time sure, but usually during the day. He knew very few of his neighbors, the building was inhabited mainly by office workers, and most of those he had met still offered him the same stock looks of pity he received from the older customers at the bookstore. Thankfully since he had been fitted with the leg he had managed to hide his disability, something he was grateful for because it stopped people acting and talking to him like he was in some way incapable of doing anything himself. He took hold of his stick and hobbled out of the bedroom and down the corridor towards the front door. The apartment he passed through was sterile, comfortably fitted, but with few personal touches. The only real sign of his presence were the books on the shelves in the living room, the clothes both dirty and clean in the bedroom, and the pile of unwashed dishes in the kitchen. He hadn't bothered to decorate.

He reached the door, and without bothering to put it on the chain wrenched it open violently. "Yes!" he began sarcastically, "What is it that's so dam…..." He broke off, unbelieving, staggered slightly, and fell backwards as his cane fell from his unsteady grip.

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* * *

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Sam stared at Daniel, stunned by the changes. Cam, much more alert, lunged forward and grabbed their former colleagues arm, steadying him and preventing him from falling painfully on his ass. Recovering, Sam leaned down and scooped up the cane, passing it back to her friend, who took it automatically, still gazing at them in amazement.

After a few moments he regained his voice. "Guys" he managed weakly.

"Yes Jackson it's us," replied Cam straightforwardly, still supporting the archaeologist with one strong hand.

"But, but I thought they were never going to let us see each other again" he said, his voice strengthening.

"No, they weren't. Look, we've got some things to tell you which would best be said where no one can here. Can we come in?" said Cam quietly and slowly, indicating the open hallway with an inclination of his head.

"Umm, yes, come on in." said Daniel, who seemed to still be in a state of shock. He grasped the cane Sam had retrieved for him more firmly, and using it turned awkwardly so that he was facing back into the apartment. With a hand on his arm Cam guided him down the corridor and through a door into a room which turned out to be the living room.

Sam stepping after them pulled the door closed and shot the bolt, after a swift glance up and down the corridor to see if anyone had been watching. The corridor was empty, and if there were cameras she couldn't see them. As she stepped into the living room and saw Daniel again her heart gave a leap, but as she took in his haggard appearance a feeling of pity filled her heart. He looked almost broken, more defeated and self-loathing than she had ever seen him, even after the death of Shar're. He was unshaven, disheveled and half dressed. This was nothing new to her after years of discovering him asleep in his office after forgetting to go to bed. What had really made her heart sink was the look in his eyes, the smell of alcohol on his breath and worst of all the missing stump of his right leg.

Cam guided him into a chair, into which he sank gratefully. He was still gazing at both of them like he expected them to vanish if he blinked. He shook his head as if to clear a fug from it and managed, "how did you find me?" Cam didn't bother to answer, merely tossed him the scanner, which to his credit he caught neatly. He gazed at it, and then looked up. Sam could almost see the neurons starting to fire behind his eyes, as Daniel's magnificent brain came to life.

"This is ancient!"

"Yep" commented Cam dryly, "and there's an ancient ship in orbit too." _'That'_ got Daniel's attention. He sat up, rubbing his face to try wake himself up. As he did so, Carter and Mitchell gazed around curiously. The room was furnished but bare. It looked to them like a development which had been purchased fully furnished. The only personal touches were the ranks of books in the shelving and a number of dirty plates. Daniel had obviously not bothered to make a new life for himself. Not that Sam blamed him. Her life for the last 9 months had been miserable enough, and she had not lost part of one leg. She gazed around, and her eyes fell upon the prosthetic resting in a corner. It looked pitiful. Daniel had obviously followed her gaze.

"It's better than crutches," he quipped, with a trace of the old Daniel, but there was a worrying note of bitterness.

Despite his obvious tiredness, and perhaps slight intoxication, his eyes fixed them with a steely gaze, taking in their clothing, the bulges in their pockets. They flicked upwards, obviously taking in the unobtrusive radio booms beneath their ears.

"So what's happening?"

"We've got some help. Sheppard and his team from Atlantis are here, and they've got a ship in orbit," said Mitchell. Daniel blinked. The pair of them caught his confused look. "Long story apparently" quipped Sam, then she turned serious. "We need to hurry. We don't know if they've spotted our absence already, but it won't be long. How long will it take you to get dressed?"

Daniel's eyes dropped, considering his own half dressed and highly disheveled appearance. His expression, to the concern of his friends, was one of deep self-loathing. "Do I have time for a shower," he quipped ironically, but the smile did not reach his eyes. Any reply to the negative that Mitchell might have been about to make was drowned out by an urgent radio call in their earpieces.

_  
"Mitchell Carter we've got trouble. You've got at least six black jeeps heading fast your way!"_

Daniel must have sensed it was bad news, even though he had no headset, for he hurriedly began pulling on a shirt from a basket of dirty laundry which lay beside the open door to the kitchen. Sam noticed with a pang that he only pulled out one sock from the pile, clearly accepting that he would not have time to fit his prosthetic. Cam wasn't looking, he had other concerns. As Daniel was struggling into the shirt, he was on the radio to Sheppard, speaking urgently.

"How long do we have?"

The reply came back immediately. _"Not long, maybe 5 minutes. You must have been recognized."_ Mitchell, franticly trying to visualize the layout of the building, or as much of it as he had been able to determine from the jumper's scans and their earlier passage through it, asked the obvious question. "How long will it take you to get here?"

_  
"A minute tops."_ came the immediate reply. "_Shall I aim for the rooftop?"_ Mitchell considered. They still didn't know if their actually was any access to the roof from this building yet. He turned to Jackson. "Can we get up to the rooftop from here?"

Jackson considered the question, and then shrugged helplessly, half way through pulling on a shoe. Despite himself Cameron couldn't help but be distracted by the scene. The horrible stub of Jackson's right leg below the knee, the pinkness of the amputation, even after 9 months. There had been times during the long recovery from his devastating crash in Antarctica when he had woken up in the middle of the night, his sheets damp with sweat, at the fear that his leg would have to be amputated. Thankfully, it had not come to pass, and after months of grueling physiotherapy he had recovered full ability in his wounded leg. Jackson had suffered what he had so feared. Cam pitied his friend, but he was more worried about how Jackson's wound might slow them up.

He hit the transmit button on his radio. "Stay overhead, but don't land yet. If there's no roof access we might just have to escape on foot. Any sign of air units?" There was a pause, and he imagined Sheppard or McKay running a sweap with the Jumper's complex sensors. It didn't take long. _"None as yet. I'd hurry though those jeeps are really booking it." _Sheppard sounded tense. Mitchell didn't blame him. Jackson finished tying the laces of his shoe and stood up, seizing hold of his stick. It was a stout wooden affair with a firm rubber grip and a no-nonsense handle. He pushed himself off the bed to his feet with practiced ease and leaning on this stick gestured with his head towards the door.

The three of them set off immediately. At once both Mitchell and Carter saw they were going to have a problem. Jackson was surprisingly fast on his cane, but he still could only really make a fast walking pace. Luckily his apartment was one of the closest to the elevator, but even so it was taking too long. As they hurried Mitchell was thinking desperately. If they took the lift to the top floor, they could perhaps get atop the roof before anyone spotted them and be picked up. On the other hand if there was no roof access they could end up being trapped on the building's upper floors, and nothing short of Sheppard blowing a hole in the roof with a drone would allow them to escape.

As they entered the elevator, which thankfully was still on their floor, he made up his mind, and pushed the button for the lobby. The lift descended swiftly. He checked his watch. They had perhaps 4 minutes left of Sheppard's 5 minute deadline. Was that enough time to get clear of the building and escape into some side alley? Jackson's one leg would slow them down and be a dead giveaway.

There was a musical note as the lift reached its destination, and the doors slide open. They were just hurrying out when there was a shout for them to freeze. They turned as one, Mitchell holding his stunner, Jackson shielded behind them. The security guard from earlier stood in front of them, pistol leveled. He was too close for Mitchell to risk bringing up his weapon

"Hands in the air" he shouted.

When they made no such move he shouted again. "Hands in the air right _Now_!" Before Mitchell could do or say anything, there was a strange 'fizzing' sound, and the guard slumped to the ground, his pistol dropping out of his hand onto the carpeted floor with a thud. Mitchell turned, to see Jackson holding Carter's stunner in his hand. Somehow he had managed to extract it from her pocket without the guard noticing, and shielded from view use it on the guard.

"Nice" commented Mitchell, as the three of them hurried past towards the front doors. As they passed the 'guard,' whom he guessed had sounded the alarm, he scooped up the man's weapon, sliding it into a pocket lest the man recover unexpectedly and use it on them.

They had taken too long. As the three of them spilled out into the chill of early evening, they saw a pair of black jeeps with government plates speeding towards them not 200 yards away. Hurried glances in the other direction revealed two more also headed their way, having clearly looped around to cover the street in both directions. Hurriedly Mitchell and Carter pulled Jackson back into the building, half dragging their colleague.

As they hurried past the reception desk and unconscious body of the guard Mitchell got on the radio. "Sheppard, the front's no go. How's the back of the building looking from where you are?" He knew from what he had seen earlier that there was a loading dock at the back of Jackson's building, served by an alley from a side street. If they were lucky they might be able to make it out that way.

The reply came back instantly._ "No use. The other two jeeps just pulled up that way too. I count eight men piling out. They're all armed."_

Eight men at the back, Mitchell realised, meant there were at least sixteen men about to come through the front doors at any moment. That only left one option. They headed for the elevator. Carter hit the call button, only to note with horror that the lift was no longer there. It was heading for the upper floors, presumably called by some other resident. It was the only lift in the building. Cursing the architect, all three members of SG-1 hurried for the door to the emergency stairwell, which stood a little way to the left of the elevator doors.

They reached the door, passed through it, and had begun to climb when the first of the black jeeps screeched to a halt outside the front of the building. Doors flew open and four figures in suits piled out, swiftly joined by their companions from the other three jeeps. Eight of them piled in through the lobby doors, while the remaining four formed a cordon around the building entrance, silently forbidding anyone from entering.

Once inside the first 8 drew their guns. Checking the pulse of the unconscious guard, their leader surveyed the scene. Noting the ascending figures above the elevator doors, he made the obvious conclusion and looking around, spotted the sign above the door to the stairwell. Just then, the numeral's illustrating the progress of the lift stopped at the 4th floor. Leaving two more men to guard the lobby in case their prey doubled back, his team set off pounding up the stairs.

At the same time, six armed figures of the secondary team burst through the rear doors into the building's service areas. Communicating by radio with their colleagues at the front of the building, the six men and women began ascending another stairwell, also heading for the 4th floor.

It was pure luck, but the misdirection of the elevator did in fact briefly help the three members of SG1. It gained them valuable moments. They were headed for the top floor, the 6th floor, hoping to find the access to the roof for Sheppard, floating just above the roof surface, had confirmed the presence of what looked to be door providing access out onto the top of the building. Their pursuers, deceived by the elevator and their awareness that Jackson's room was also on the 4th floor, headed no further up the stairs than that floor.

Carter and Mitchell, effectively dragging Jackson with them up the stairs, had just managed to close the fire door separating the 4th and 5th floor stairways behind them when their opponents burst through the door one floor below. These fire doors, hefty constructions in metal and fire-retardant material, were located on every landing and intended to prevent fires using the stairwells to spread to other floors. They had also, in combination with thick fireproof carpeting which dulled their footfalls, prevented any sound of SG1's frantic ascent reaching the pursuing party just a few moments behind.

Unaware of their unknown opponents error, and certain that they were only moments behind, Carter and Mitchell continued to half carry Jackson up the stairs. It was exhausting work for all of them. Without his prosthetic Daniel could hardly contribute to the effort, but was forced to push off from each step when he could. Behind them, the two government teams spilled out onto the 4th floor from opposite ends, securing the stairwells and spreading out to sweep the floor.

As the rapidly tiring trio reached the 5th floor landing, and passed through the firedoor onto the stairs leading to the 6th, the first government team reached the elevator on the 4th. To their surprise, the elevator was now descending, the numerals atop the closed doors steadily ticking down towards the ground. Suspecting their quarry was being cute, the team leader hurriedly snapped out orders. Just in case their quarry was trying to escape by the lift, the guards in the lobby and at the rear of the building were told to be alert. In case the lift was misdirection, intended to give their quarry time to achieve some other goal, he radioed for the other team to meet him outside the apartment belonging to the resident.

It was a logical mistake. It never crossed the team leader's mind that their quarry might in fact be heading for the roof. Why should they and how, since the lift was now descending and the stairways blocked by his men. What escape could there possibly be from the roof. The building was sheer and isolated, with no escape to nearby buildings or rooftops. Any attempt by their quarry to retreat upwards would merely succeed in them trapping themselves further. It was a logical assumption, but a mistake nonetheless.

He realized his mistake a few moments later, but not until after the combined eight operatives had taken up positions outside the door. At a signal from the lead agent, they then broke the door down and rushed inside, swamping the apartment in armed men. Tazers and guns ready, they swept every room, but they discovered only dirty clothing and unwashed dishes. There was no sign of their quarry.

It was then that he became aware of his mistake. The first indications, aside from the deserted apartment, were the gun shots which echoed dully from the floors above. The second was a report from the lobby team on the contents of the elevator.

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* * *

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Robert and Belinda Maidstone, aged 68 and 65 respectively, were heading out for an evening of theatre and dinner with family. They had left their luxurious 4th floor apartment, into which they had moved on Robert's retirement eight years previously, and called the elevator from the ground floor.

As they rode the lift down to the lobby, the retired surgeon and his wife were deeply involved in a discussion of the evening's upcoming performance, and a good natured squabble about just whose pocket contained the tickets. They were therefore more than a little scared and surprised to face pointed guns and shouts to put their hands in the air when the elevator doors slid open at ground level.

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* * *

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Just as one of the rather bemused agents at ground level got on his radio to report the situation, while his three colleagues hurriedly holstered their weapons and attempted to calm a rather distressed Mrs Maidstone, six floors above Cam pulled the trigger of the security guard's confiscated semi-automatic.

Moments earlier, a gasping Jackson, Mitchell and Carter had reached the 6th floor, stumbling along the corridors until they reached a study metal door leading to the building's attic spaces. Jackson slumped against the wall, gasping for breath. He was still in fairly decent shape but the lightning climb up the stairs combined with the alcohol in his system was making his lungs burn as they fought to suck down enough oxygen.

Sam and Mitchell were in better shape, but even so they were still breathing heavily. Sam took in the metal door. Black letters on it read _'Attic Access,'_ while smaller letters below proclaimed _'authorized access only.'_ She tried the handle. It was locked, and resisted any of their combined attempts to burst it open by force. Left with nothing but bruised shoulders for their efforts, with time ticking away, they considered their options.

Mitchell considered the ancient stunner, but he doubted it would be any use, and it wasn't large or heavy enough to be used to batter the door down. There was no window to break either and no bench, plant pot or fire-extinguisher nearby that he could see to use as a battering ram. Valuable time was ticking by. He made his decision. Withdrawing the pistol he had confiscated earlier from the guard downstairs from his jacket pocket, he leveled it at the lock, signaling for Jackson and Carter to stand clear.

He pulled the trigger. He fired several times, knowing that the first bullet would probably just hopelessly mangle the mechanism, aiming for where he thought the mounting holding the bolt in place would be.

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* * *

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No sooner had the lobby team begun to report with the news, than the upstairs teams suddenly raced for the stairwells. Once again they split, thinking fast even in their surprise, half heading for the front stairs, the other  
half for the rear.

They were pounding up the stairs to the 5th floor even as Mitchell and Carter succeeded in forcing the metal door open, and were dragging Daniel up yet more stairs into the attic spaces. These stairs, not intended for pampered residents, were steeper. It was exhausting work and despite their brief respite their pace began to slow. As they climbed, gasping with the effort, Mitchell radioed Sheppard, managing to gasp out the words for him to bring the Jumper in for an urgent pickup.

As they reached the top they found themselves stumbling into a dimly lit service corridor, its roof littered with cables and pipes. This corridor lead all the way around the roof of the building, its various doors providing access to water pumping systems and tanks, electrical and heating services, along with the motors for the elevator. The floor was no-frills linoleum, slippery beneath their rushing feet.

Mitchell & Carter knew the roof access was somewhere up here, the question was where. Their pace slowed as their eyes scanned the walls and doors, looking for signs or labels that might help. As they paused briefly, they heard pounding feet behind them. As they spun around they saw half a dozen figures at least round a dimly lit corner. Shouts of 'Freeze' told them they had been spotted. Mitchell threw out his arm and fired, emptying the guard's pistol. He aimed over their pursuers heads, seeking to buy them time and make their opponents seek cover. It worked momentarily. As the clip emptied with a ping of metal, the men and women in suits recovered and returned fire. They also fired high, no doubt aiming to pin down their targets rather than to kill or wound them.

In that way their fire had much the same effect as Mitchell's, forcing the three companions to dive for cover. Jackson, reacting instinctively after eleven years of being in hazardous situations, pushed his companions into cover around a corner. The force of his exertions threw him backwards into some other cover. It was only once he recovered the he realized what he had done.

He was cut off from Carter and Mitchell by perhaps a meter and a half of bare linoleum. His stick lay out on the open, well out of reach of either himself or his friends. The walls were bare, lacking any of the handholds he usually needed to get up from the floor without aid. He couldn't move, could only crawl. He was stuck

As further shouts of _'Freeze' _and _'Surrender' _echoed down the corridor from their pursuers, he incredulously took in the sign behind his two friends. It was on the cross-wall nearest to their opponents, out of sight until just now. It was a stylized set of stairs, below the welcome words 'ROOF.'

"Look" he shouted over the noise of more gunshots, pointing at the sign. He saw Mitchell's eyes flick upwards to the sign, widen in surprise and excitement, and shout in Sam's ear. But when the pair of them gazed in sudden realization at him, he saw Mitchell's eyes harden, his pleasant features contort into a mask of fear and dismay.

"Jackson" he shouted, "You'll have to jump it."

As he spoke, another volley of gunfire tore into the concrete walls, indicating the hopelessness of that idea. Daniel, who had by now managed at least to pull himself to his knees, took a chance and risked a quick glance down the corridor. Obviously encouraged by the lack of return fire, the figures in suits had begun to advance down the corridor. They were already less than 50 feet away.

He tugged his head back in a hurry. He gestured to his friends. "Get out of here!" he shouted.

_  
"Daniel"_ called Sam, her frustration and dismay obvious. Her hazel eyes were wide and full of emotion.

"Dammit Jackson we're not leaving you again!" shouted Cam, his face firm, his expression unyielding.

He met their eyes. What Sam saw in Daniel's eyes made her start desperately across the corridor, but Mitchell grabbed her and pulled her back. Daniel ignored them, and reaching into his pocket, pulled out Sam's ancient stunner. She had completely forgotten about it. He leaned around the corner, extending the weapon. He fired twice, and saw with satisfaction that two of their pursuers dropped to the floor senseless.

Mitchell, watching Jackson, desperately trying to think up some tactic to get him across the corridor, saw the Archaeologist's blue eyes widen behind his glasses. Jackson ducked back into cover, just as two metal prongs buried themselves in the concrete where his arm had been. The tazer darts visibly crackled with energy. Great, well that's something, thought Cam absently; they're not trying to kill us. Bad news is though, they're close enough to use tazers. We can't hold them off either. six jeeps, 24 guys, and there's got to be more coming.

Jackson leant out again, and fired three more times, catching another one of their enemies, stunning him. He was forced to hurriedly duck out of sight again, as two more sets of tazer darts impacted on the wall and floor where h had been.

Mitchell realized suddenly with shame that he had been sitting around like an idiot while his colleague had actually been doing something useful and risked a glance around the corner. He had his own stunner ready but any hopes of knocking out enough of their pursuers to get Jackson safely across were immediately dashed. Three unconscious bodies were sprawled on the floor less than 40 feet away but their pursuers were smart. The remaining 4 or 5 were taking cover behind their unconscious companion's bodies, which they had piled up in front of them as cover.

Behind them he saw more suited figures appear, and fired a pair of stun pulses at them. He missed, but luckily did not suffer a return volley of bullets or darts in reply. Their plan was obvious though. They were going to overwhelm them with bodies. If they didn't move soon he did not doubt their opponents would get reinforcements, and probably worse still air support. Sheppard would have no trouble shooting down a chopper with the Jumper's advanced weapons, but he sincerely hoped they would not have to so, and risk injuring innocent men and civilians.

Jackson's thoughts were obviously running parallel to his own. Daniel risked another shot, only to duck back into cover before he had the chance to fire, half a dozen tazer darts skittering over the floor and wall as they caught sight of him.

_  
"Get out of here!"_ he yelled. _"Come get me later."_

"Daniel, No!" shouted Sam. For the last few moment she had stood motionless beside Mitchell, weaponless and unable to help, aware of her own uselessness, but his words spurred her again to action.

"Jump for it" she called. Sam was distraught. They had come so far, only to have to leave their friend behind again. Jackson would probably get stunned, but if he jumped far enough they would probably be able to grab him and drag him up the ladder. If only….

"No chance" he called back. "You'll never make it with me slowing you up." He pleaded. "I can't get up anyway!"

She hesitated, knowing with futile anger that he was right.

"Move" he roared at her, firing blind down the corridor. "They can hear us. GO NOW!"

Sam felt Cam grab her by the arm and pull her towards down the corridor. After a few meters she shook him off, running by herself, the two of them sprinting along the corridor. At the end was another set of stairs, leading upwards. They pounded upwards, their steps loud on the metal treads. At the top was another door. It was locked, but proved no match for Mitchell's raged fueled strength. He crashed against it, sobbing with frustration and anger, the lock giving way against his assault.

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* * *

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.

Behind them Daniel still crouched on the cold floor, firing periodically around the corner. He was angry. Really, REALLY angry, unlike anything he had felt ever since he had lost the leg. He had lost everything again. He had been left behind, again. Before he had been left behind because he had been stupid enough to stick his foot through some frozen planks and get it wet. Such a small thing.

He had thought he would die then, alone on the frozen ice at the end of the world. He had lived, although he still had nightmares about the ice. It had not been long, nothing compared to Cameron and Sam's trek across the ice, but it had felt like the end of the world. He was no stranger to death. Hell he had actually died before, more than once. It had been the loneliness that had got to him, then and for the last 9 months.

Now, just when he thought he had found them once more, he had been left behind, again. Left behind because he had been stupid enough to throw himself the wrong way. Well, at least this time he wouldn't die. They weren't trying to kill him, unlike the ice and cold and wind.

Still. It hurt that he was alone. Again!

He gripped the stunner tighter, pushing himself upright so that his back was against the wall. It was rough against his back, the handle of the stunner beneath his fingers was smooth and warm. He was preparing to lean out again, when something clunked noisily on the concrete and linoleum of the corridor.

He looked down. His blue eyes widened behind his glasses.

_  
"Oh shi…….."_

He just had time to hurl himself futilely sideways, when the stun grenade exploded less than a meter away. There was a blinding flash of light and deafening sound, and he knew nothing more.

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The door swung outwards with a bang, and suddenly they were out in the fresh air, the lights of the city bright in the darkness. It was night, the only illumination the lights of the city around them. They gazed around, for there was naturally no trace of the jumper, when McKay emerged suddenly from the cloaking field and signaled to them. They staggered forward, and found jumper's rear hatchway suddenly before them.

They staggered into the rear compartment, barely hearing McKay's urgent enquiries."Where's Jackson," he said urgently, gazing back through the hatch towards the stairway.

"Not coming" forced out Mitchell, his teeth gritted.

Sheppard turned to face them, his expression worried. He caught Mitchell's grim expression immediately, and his own features momentarily tightened. Then there was a noise from the console, and he swung back around hurriedly, eyes worried. A screen flashed up. An orange dot was heading fast their way, closing in on the central representation of the jumper.

"Chopper" he called, his voice terse

"Take off" managed Carter, slapping a hand down on the hatch controls. Sheppard's hands were already tightening around the flight controls. The jumper's engines pulsed, grew louder, and then it lifted smoothly off the roof, so smoothly the only indication was the view through the cockpit window.

"Where's Jackson" spoke McKay in the silence.

"We had to leave him behind," said Sam, her voice toneless.

To his credit McKay said nothing. He simply walked forward into the cockpit, and sat down silently into the seat opposite Sheppard. As the Jumper's engine pods extended, coming to life with a soft whine, a helicopter soared over the surrounding buildings. Long after the jumper had got clear it slowed and came to a halt over the roof of Jackson's building. Rotors pounding loudly over the heads of the agents whom had spilled out onto the roof through the broken door. After a few moments a finger of white light darted down from its nose, the brilliant spotlight playing methodically over the surface of the building. It lit up the roof, picking out the various dark figures of the assault team

The mission leader had been stunned, but his second in command gazed around in mystification. Aside from his men, the roof was empty. There was nowhere to hide on the roof, nowhere to hide or go, yet their quarry had vanished completely, apparently into thin air!

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**End of Chapter 2  
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**A/N: Again with the irritating formating system. Hopefully i've spaced things out a little.**

**Well, i hope you enjoyed it so far. Please do leave feedback and reviews, i'm so much more encouraged to continue if you do!**

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